


glitch, glitch, glitch

by finned (tenderized)



Series: full of miles to the deep blue [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Guns, M/M, Non-Consenual Memory Alteration, like...very vague gunplay that doesn't warrant the actual tag but i want to mention just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:15:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26033299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenderized/pseuds/finned
Summary: Suna frowns, a slight down curve of his lips. “Am I a prisoner?”“Of course not.” A lie. “You’re one of us. I’m meant to keep you safe.” Ambiguous.“What could you possibly need to protect me from?” he asks, almost amused. “The insurgents are far away.”Official Guy laughs, and the sound is bitter. “They’re closer than one may think.”
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Series: full of miles to the deep blue [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1889713
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	glitch, glitch, glitch

**Author's Note:**

> title/series name from soul glitch - tinashe

When Suna comes to, he finds himself lying on the hardwood floor of an unfamiliar room. He sits up slowly, his mind feeling curiously blank, cottony, and looks down at himself. Grey sweatpants, grey shirt. He glances down further and sees that the bare soles of his feet are clean.

The room is a light beige and barren. His eyes dart from wall to wall, but he can’t find any windows. The only light source is the fluorescent light fixture in the middle of the ceiling, and its buzzing threatens to drown out even the ringing in his left ear.

Eventually, his gaze settles on the dark shape to his right. Two dark shapes, stark against the faded room. Two men, his mind churns out slowly, and he blinks at them.

One of them is dressed in a white lab coat, older and greying, with wire-rimmed spectacles and mousy facial hair. Suna gives him a once-over and dismisses him, eyes drawn to the other, more imposing, figure. 

Magnetic.

This one is in uniform, navy blue and official-looking, the outer coat decorated with fancy pins demonstrating his rank. Suna licks his lips. This one is the one to watch out for, he realizes. The sheen of the flat, black buttons are distracting, he thinks, and he traces their outlines obsessively. 

“Suna,” he hears, and his attention snaps up to the other’s mouth. Full and pink. He blushes, glances higher. Dark eyes, grey-brown like soil after rain, looking at him and – 

His head throbs, and he looks away, wincing. Blue-white star bursts of light flash behind his eyes, and he forces himself to focus on something less dangerous. Official Guy’s shoes are black, scuffed at the sides, also shiny.

He feels someone kneeling down in front of him, and he closes his eyes. This room is too bright.

“I can take it from here, Ito.” A low voice, rough ocean waves over shoreline rocks, and an accent that not even training could temper away.

“Are you sure, Mi - ”

“Yes,” Official Guy interrupts. For a moment, no one moves, and Suna counts in his head. One sheep, two sheep, three sheep – then, some shuffling as Ito bows, footsteps, the soft twist of the doorknob, and finally, a quiet click as the door closes.

“Suna,” he hears again, but he doesn’t want to look. It makes his teeth ache. His mind moves sluggishly, and a part of him acknowledges that there’s probably something wrong with him. 

He keeps his eyes shut, and the darkness is soothing.

The faintest touch on his chin, tilting his head towards the other, and they snap open to meet Official Guy’s gaze again. The fingers withdraw too quickly, and Suna wonders if, maybe, this man is scared of him.

“I need ya to focus,” the other says, and it feels urgent. Suna looks at his lips, and they part around a word, unsaid. He wrinkles his brow, not understanding, and glances away, distracted suddenly, by something in the corner of the room, the flicker of a light.

“There’s a camera,” he says aloud. Why is there a camera?

Official Guy flinches back. Stands up and steps away. 

“Yes.” The tone is different, and Suna’s ears perk up at it. “Suna, I understand this must all feel very sudden to you, but please do not feel alarmed. You’re safe now.” The nape of his neck is prickling, and Suna brings a hand, cautious, up to feel, but there’s nothing there but smooth skin. “You were found on shift, badly hurt from separatist forces during a sudden uprising, but our doctors were able to patch you up.”

This man is lying to him, and he's not being subtle about it. Suna’s not quite sure why he knows, or if he cares, his mind reaching this conclusion absently. He doesn’t interrupt, however, choosing instead to run his hands along the floorboards. 

There’s a knot in the wood, the tiniest imperfection in the otherwise uniform panels, and he picks at it with the nail of his index finger.

“There are times where you might feel disoriented, confused. This is perfectly normal. While you recover, we have given you use of patient facilities, and in the meantime, there will be regular check-ups to make sure recuperation is a hundred percent.”

"I can't go home?"

"Not until you fully recover." is the rehearsed answer. "The doctors - we don't want anything we can't control triggerin' a relapse." 

These words feel familiar, not like he’s heard them before but like they’ve been in his own mouth before, shaped by his own teeth, and Suna tongues at his cheek. The inside is bloody.

He stands up, then, and finally, the man pauses in his words. The silence is welcome.

“Alright.” Suna says. “Then, will you bring me to my room? I’m tired.”

“I - ” A twist of the lips. Suna can’t meet his eyes. “Of course, Suna. Please follow me.”

________________________________ 

The hallways are empty as they walk through them, everything the same light brown wood. Here and there, Suna will spot a familiar camera, black and obvious, and he has no doubts there are more he cannot see.

Room 172 is where he will be staying, right next to 170 and 174, across from 173. Official Guy doesn’t stay in this part of the complex. 

Suna knows because the other man had offered the information even though he hadn’t asked.

He walks into the bathroom and turns the knob of the faucet, and water, clear and cool, comes running out.

“Would you like me to have someone bring you something to drink?”

Suna wonders if the water tastes as mysterious as Official Guy is, and he ducks his head under to lap at the stream. It doesn’t. Doesn’t taste mysterious or strange or different. Just normal, like everything else here. He drinks some more until his stomach feels heavy.

When he’s had his fill, he straightens and turns off the faucet. The ends of his hair are a little damp, and they lie flat, dripping water onto his cheeks and down his chin.

He glances further down and something about the flexing of Official Guy’s fingers feels familiar. Just out of his grasp. He watches as the other’s hand, long fingers and wide knuckles, makes an aborted movement, as if to reach out, before it settles back down, and he mediates on how they would feel, on him, in him, around him. 

“No. I’m good, thanks. I think I would like to be alone now.”

“I’m supposed to watch over you.”

Suna frowns, a slight down curve of his lips. “Am I a prisoner?”

“Of course not.” A lie. “You’re one of us. I’m meant to keep you safe.” Ambiguous.

“What could you possibly need to protect me from?” he asks, almost amused. “The insurgents are far away.”

Official Guy laughs, and the sound is bitter. “They’re closer than one may think.”

________________________________ 

Suna sinks to his knees in front of the other man.

The whisper of steel against cloth, then, a gun pressing to the center of his forehead, cool against his skin, and he goes cross-eyed.

“What –” A swallow, obvious. “What are you doing?” The words come out unsteady, and Suna can hear the crack in the other’s voice. It makes the other sound younger, inexperienced almost, but he’s seen the gold-edged pins, the decorated badges, and knows that this man is anything but.

His hands find their way to the other’s belt, and there's no other resistance. The buckle is shiny, just like everything else Official Guy owns. Like the round, black buttons on his coat. The thought of this man sitting alone in his room, polishing the buttons of his uniform is a sad one, Suna thinks, and he smooths his fingers over it, smudging the glossy metal.

“What did you say your name was?” He can’t remember. “Officer?” Everything has been slipping just out of reach recently, seeping out like water through a grail, and it is so, so frustrating. He realizes his jaw is clenched and forces himself to relax.

His fingers stay loose against the other’s narrow waist. 

“Suna. Please.”

“That’s _my_ name,” Suna laughs.

A pause, and he can feel the barrel of the gun waver, the hesitation as it tilts down to rest against his lips when the grip loosens.

He darts his tongue out to taste, and it’s cold and metallic and feels like something familiar. He looks up, watches the other’s expression tighten and feels the muscles under his hands tense.

There’s a phantom ache to his jaw, and he recognizes it now, what that feeling is. Relief of some sort, maybe, to see the end. The vacuum in his mind abates.

“I’m – “ Official Guy swallows. Wets his lips nervously and glances towards the door. “My name is Osamu.” Osamu searches his face for signs of recognition, and Suna almost feels bad for the man because there’s nothing to find. He traces the other's features hungrily, over dark brows and a sharp jaw, and hunts for something like familiarity. "Miya Osamu," Official Guy tries, but it makes no difference. Suna does not know him.

 _Osamu._ His heart curls around the name possessively, regardless, and he tucks it in safe.

Osamu could blow his brains out right now, he knows. He’d be more concerned, but there’s nothing in his head anyway.

“We’ve been in this position before,” Suna says, feeling a little breathless, and as the words leave his mouth, he knows this to be a truth. There aren’t many of those nowadays, and their rarity makes them easy to spot. He sinks his teeth in this fact and doesn't let go. 

All of a sudden, he feels rough hands gripping him by his shirtfront and forcing him up.

“Don’t touch me,” Osamu growls, face near, and instinctually, Suna’s hands come up to grip the other’s wrists, to bring him in closer even as he stumbles backwards. 

He’s shoved away, then, and it’s by some miracle that he doesn’t fall on his ass, reflexes he didn’t know he had taking over. “Try that again, and someone far worse will be watchin' over you next time.”

With those parting words, Osamu stalks out, slamming the door shut behind him.

Suna flops onto his bed, exhausted, and buries his face in one of the threadbare pillows. Between his fingers, the small piece of paper he’d just been given crinkles, edges soft, and hiding his hands under the blanket, he runs a blunt nail over the well-worn creases, feels the warmth and slight dampness of something held between uneasy palms for far too long.

_Osamu, huh?_

He hides a smile in the mattress. He doesn’t think he’ll be forgetting that name anytime soon.

**Author's Note:**

> this is...quite off-brand for me i feel LOL. in case it wasn't clear, there's a central gov + separatist forces. suna & osamu were high-ranking officers, suna (with osamu possibly) rebelled, was caught, had his memories wiped. anyway i don't have plans to continue this as of right now, but i made it a series just in case. thank you for reading!
> 
> twitter at [@atsusuna](https://www.twitter.com/atsusuna)


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